No more walks in the wood

The trees have all been cut down

And where once they stood

Not even a wagon rut

Appears along the path

Low brush is taking over



No more walks in the wood

This is the aftermath

Of afternoons in the clover fields

Where we once made love

Then wandered home together

Where the trees arched above

Where we made our own weather

When branches were the sky

Now they are gone for good

And you, for ill, and I

Am only a passer-by



We and the trees and the way

Back from the fields of play

Lasted as long as we could

No more walks in the wood